The Price of Freedom
by CaptainArdee
Summary: A deviation from the game's plot during the Dissent quest. Follows the death of Ser Alrik and picks up when Justice confronts the mage girl, Ella. Contains mentions of a relationship between male!Hawke and Anders. More may be added.


The shining lights from behind Anders' eyes had become a familiar sight by now. Justice, in all his bloodlust and glory, had been a frequent companion along most of our last few journeys. The deep, resounding rumble of Justice's voice was a sound I knew well enough that it could've greeted me like an old friend, if Justice didn't despise my constant company and Anders didn't refuse to confide in me largely because of Justice.

"Anders," I whispered softly. I had to hold myself back from reaching out to touch the face that had once smiled and called me 'love' with none of the disdain it was sending my way now.

A long time ago, probably sometime around when I arrived at Kirkwall, I had learned that a 'strong stomach' was more useful for keeping feelings at bay than earlier meals. My talents for expressing myself – and my tendency to either burst out laughing or growl with rage when something surprised me – strictly went against the strengthening of any skills that kept me in control of my emotions. Mother had been frustrated to no end by that when I was young – there was a difference, apparently, between speaking my mind and allowing myself to share too much too quickly. But I knew I had gotten it from Father, and gut instinct had told me that that was my only birthright.

Justice stared at me with Anders' eyes, shifting his weight slightly, making the young mage more nervous with every passing moment. "They've tainted her," he hissed, looking back at the girl with growing rage. "I can see it inside of her. She cannot be trusted!"

"You just saved her from the Templars, remember?" I tried, encouraging him to turn his disappointment back towards me. "She's a mage, like you, Anders! She needs our help!"

My own voice sounded foreign just then.

I'd heard, in stories that I'd been hearing since my childhood in Lothering, that there were times in life were one could swear the veil between our waking lives and the Fade had been lifted. That was when reality and dreams were united, for just a small space of time, in an aged lovers' dance that they had been doing since the beginning of time.

This was a moment like that for me. Here I was, staring down with my defenses high what was at least partially my lover in the flesh, contaminated by pieces of a being made up of dreams and ideals.

"Their taint is growing in her! There is no going back!" Justice boomed, raising his hands above the mage girl's head, shrouds of energy and darkness enveloping clenched fists.

"That's not true!" I snapped, moving closer, though trying not to startle him and set off the fury already. "She wants freedom from the Templars, just as much as you do! She's had to live a life being hunted and tortured by their games. And for what? To be struck down by some semblance of a fallen hero that dares bring ugliness and hate to the name _justice_?"

This was growing heated too fast. But I couldn't just stand there… a young mage's life hung in the balance between Anders and Justice, between him and me, between justice and vengeance.

I wasn't even sure if this was the right thing to do anymore. It wasn't like I'd ever known the best way. Life had always kept me moving, learning as I fell and got back up on my own, and even years fighting Qunari and working with Dalish mercenaries hadn't prepared me to stare a creature of the Fade in the face and call him a disgrace to his title.

But, as usual, here I was. Doing what I wasn't prepared for.

Justice moved closer to the mage girl, and I moved closer to him. It was amazing how a few careful steps changed the tension in the cavern from great to unbearable. In my heart and in my mind, I was begging for some chance for Anders to take control again. Anders, my Anders, the healer of Darktown, would never murder a young mage when he could urge her to take back her freedom.

"Please… don't kill me…" The girl moved back against the mossy stone wall, visibly shaking, the fear of the Maker and all His wrath in her eyes. She was too young, too scared, and controlled too long by the Templars to try using her own magic as a means of defense.

Unfortunately, that seemed to be what Justice saw in her too, and that only made his rage boil more. The reign of the Templars in Kirkwall – and, really, in Ferelden as well – had soaked up all the majesty and independence that their mages could have – and should have – been able to obtain. Instead, they were locked up, some as young as six from what I had seen, and taught that they were monsters in the eyes of the Maker that had given them those very powers to help maintain peace.

He leaned in closer and she let out a cry of fear that I mistook for anguish – damn my overzealous heart. Looking back, I'm not even sure that I would have changed my mind, but I jumped in between them before I had time to really decide that was the best thig. But, no, this was me.

I got there in plenty of time, whether that was truly fortunate or truly unfortunate.

The spell hit me like no spell had ever hit me before. I'd been wounded by magic, and by blades, and by fists, but nothing like this. The surging power of Justice had always seemed stronger and fiercer in its devastation than any spells I'd seen Anders do with those same hands. I'd seen the light leave the eyes of those Templars not so very long ago, and now I was feeling the same pain that they had.

Ironically, I had imagined it differently. For some reason, I had always expected a slow fade to pure black, paired with a maddeningly slow descent to the ground as my body could no longer stop from free-falling what would seem like farther than it should have been.

It wasn't like that at all. There was no cold, growing distance. There was only heat… anger… grief… lust. It was a feeling of hot disappointment, resting on a bed of snarling coals and my scrambled thoughts, racing by and only bringing more pain that shocked me like lightning hitting a nail on a tree.

My romanticism being no secret to those who knew me well, I was left hoping that I would have a chance to see Justice fade away as Anders regained control, stamping an expression all his own on my last memory. But, no, that wasn't there either. It was too mild, too calm a thought to grace me then.

Instead, I was given darkness. Red, burning darkness that refused to let me go.

Trapped in the continuous motion of my body losing all sensation, the images of what I feared most passed through along with my repeated remembering of those last moments. It was a typical thing to happen when I closed my eyes now. I would see Mother and Carver lying dead on the ground outside Lothering, and a swarm of Darkspawn descending upon them to do Maker knows what. I would see Bethany, backed into a corner in the Gallows, sliced open by a greedy Templar blade. I would see Anders, giving in to misery and disappointment, succumbing to the fate of becoming an Abomination. Then I would see my friends – _our_ friends – guiltily having to destroy what was left, having no choice.

I willed myself to fight. That was how this worked, right? Extraordinary circumstances always seemed to track me down like a beast hunting its next meal. Why not help me now? If I was really as rare of a human as so many had already told me in my travels, then cheating death would just be another strike on my list of accomplishments.

But relying on stubbornness wasn't really enough. This wasn't something in my control anymore, considering how I had thrown myself in front of a madman's death wishes for an innocent already. Now, it was up to the others. They were strong. They could manage without me. I had to trust.

Because, after all, even magic cannot work impossible wonders. Magic has limits, rules, and must be sculpted through hard work and a lot of faith.

That, not my own uniqueness – if I'm to believe there is any – , was what burst through the darkness. Not a rite of passage, not a hero's heart, not a secret blessing from the Maker in my time of need. Decades of suffering and determination met with the faith that can only be found in desperation.

Murmuring voices found my ears through the sudden pounding of blood in my veins. For a few breaths – though I was too overwhelmed to count; it could have been many or a handful – the heat seemed to rise in me more than ever before, more than I had thought possible.

I thought that I was finally meeting death. I still expected a cool hand on my shoulder, a skeletal stare, the touch of winter in my lungs. But, no. A cool teardrop landed on my feverish lips, and that was when I knew I was still alive.

Barely able to part my eyelids, I could a glimpse of a familiar glimmer. Anders was crouched over me, shimmering rivers of regret wetting his face in the dim light around us. More tears feel on my skin, but I wasn't able to move enough to reach up. I tried to take a shaky breath but only managed a wheeze.

"My love," Anders choked, barely louder than my breathing. "I told you I would only bring you trouble, that I would only break your heart…"

I couldn't see them, but as Anders' words faded into soft sobbing, I caught sounds of the others. Merrill's voice was in a sharp, urging tone. Varric was muttering something, and if it was a joke, it wasn't good enough for the occasion, because I heard Fenris' voice like the crack of a whip. But I couldn't make out what they were saying. Listening so intently already made consciousness start to leave me again.

A weak whine escaped me as I let out a breath, and suddenly there was movement all around me. Colors blended together, and my eyes closed again. Hands that felt like ice compared to the fire within moved my shoulders and cupped my cheeks. I tried to listen; feeling and seeing were hard.

"Hawke, snap out of it!" Varric.

"Get back! All of you!" Anders.

"Why, because you can handle this? Correct me if I'm wrong, but you did this." Varric.

"He didn't! It was Justice…" Merrill.

"And the difference is…? The name? The purpose? The origin? The murderous rage?" Varric.

"The work of a mage is the work of a mage." Fenris.

"Please, let me help! I know that I could try-" Merrill.

"No! None of your blood magic! Not him!" Anders.

"I warned him of the damage that always follows mages…" Fenris.

"If you care so little, leave!" Anders.

"If I _did_ care, I wouldn't _kill_ him, but apparently that _is_ what one does." Fenris.

"Why don't you just say what's on your mind?" Anders.

"Often, I do. I believe I have. Many times." Fenris.

"Please, everyone… we need to… He's breathing!" Merrill.

"Stay back! Everyone, get back!" Anders.

Hands on me again, but I wasn't sure about anything else. I just felt movement near me.

"Jocelyn… please…" Anders' voice got closer. "Come back…"

I tried again to breathe deeply and still failed. Questions, insults, concerns bled together. Unbearable heat began to rise. There was nothing I could do. Everything turned to fire.

Darkness took over.


End file.
